Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Discuss the terms?” I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Terms of what?”
“Us.”
Abort mission.
Do not engage in emotionally vulnerable conversation!
“Us? There is no us.”
“Hmmm.” He rubs his chin. “Isn’t there?”
I thought we were here to flirt over appetizers and share custody of a cup with cartoon animals? I wasn’t planning on this buzzing in my chest when he looks at me like he has a secret.
I wasn’t planning on that little whisper in the back of my brain that’s saying: you like him, Nova. You really, really like him.
Crap.
My heart does a somersault.
I hate it. I love it.
I hate that I love it.
I open my mouth to scoff. To tell him he’s being ridiculous—‘cause that’s what Nova Montagalo does to men.
I dodge. I deflect. I am the damn queen of sarcasm and avoidance!
Luca leans toward me, resting his arms on the table and I literally have to peel my eyes off his muscular forearms.
“You’re right. There is no official us.” He clears his throat. “But I think about you more than I probably should. And when I see your name in my phone, it’s the best part of my day. So, if you want to pretend this isn’t something and there is no us—fine. I’ll play along.”
His gaze meets mine, steady. Warm. Unshakable.
“But I’m not going anywhere.”
Oh.
Ah.
So this is what a heart attack feels like…
8
luca
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve crossed the line from casual flirtation to full-on feelings territory.
There is no snatching them out of the air.
No take-backs.
Which, yeah. Terrifying.
But so what?
Nova doesn’t respond right away. She gazes at me, eyes wide— guarded—like I’ve reached across the table and handed her something too fragile, too real.
Like I’ve offered her something she doesn’t know how to hold.
And I get it.
I do.
She’s careful. Not cold, not indifferent—but careful. She's been through enough to know that letting people in comes with risk and sometimes people leave, through no fault of their own. I’ve heard about her failed relationships through team gossip.
I know that somewhere along the line, she decided it was safer to stay behind the high walls she’s built over time than gamble on someone new. Trust takes time.
And effort.
I’m not going anywhere.
And I don’t regret saying the words. Not even a little.
Because I meant it.
Every word.
I think about her more than I should. Wondering if she wants kids. Wondering if she likes to travel. Her favorite books and movies. Whether she cries during sad songs or keeps her emotions folded up tight, even in private. What her love languages are.
I notice the way she pretends she’s immune to our connection. I notice the way she looks at our dumb giraffe cup like it’s a stand-in for all the things she’s afraid to want—joy, nostalgia, comfort.
Beneath all the armor and eye rolls, Nova wants to be chosen.
Not just seen.
Chosen.
I clear my throat. “Sorry. Was that too real for you?”
I can match her joke for joke, sarcasm for sarcasm. I’ve done it before. I know the rhythm of her deflections like the back of my hand.
But probably not for long.
Because pretending only works until it starts to hurt.
The truth is, though, there’s only so much I’m willing to hear before I reach my limit.
If she genuinely wants me to leave her alone—to back off, delete her number, erase the idea of her from every little space she’s taken up in my life—I will.
As I study her face, the tension in her jaw changes along with a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, the way she keeps shifting like she’s trying to outrun the weight of the moment.
So I lay it out there; ask her straight: “Nova, what do you actually want from me?”
She blinks, caught off guard.
“I’m serious,” I say. “No sarcasm. No dodging the question. Just tell me the truth. What do you want from this? From me?”
She stares into my face.
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “That’s part of my problem.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then she lets out a breath, shaky but real.
“I know I like being around you. I know I find you attractive. I know this is risky and complicated and messy—but it doesn’t feel wrong.”
Because it’s not.
Nova is not afraid of me. She’s afraid of what it could mean to want something for herself. Afraid of screwing things up. Of Gio finding out.
She’s projecting her brother’s bullshit behavior onto me. He casts a long shadow—one she’s been living under it for a long time.
Makes me sad, kind of.
“Can we take your brother out of the equation for a minute?”
Her eyes snap up, wary. But she doesn’t pull away.
“I mean it,” I say. “Not because he doesn’t matter. I know he does. But this thing—whatever it is, whatever it could be—shouldn’t be about him.”